Tumbling, Falling, and Crash Landings
by Anonymous Presence
Summary: AU Hermione is caught in the complicated web of time; which-for some reason- finds that it is most compelled to just drop her in and out the life of Tom Riddle.


**Tumbling, Falling, and Crash Landings**

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, I really—honestly—don't know what this is. I've been reading many great stories of this pairing, and I guess I was inspired by them so much that somehow, this first chapter was written. This isn't a large ship, but I really like this pair. Warning; Tom Riddle is very—_very_ OOC . Who knows, maybe some will like it, others won't. As much as I like a Dark!Tom, I _realllyyy_ like Misunderstood!Tom.

This story is unBata'ed, so please excuse my errors. I do try to edit my chapters, but I can never catch my own mistakes in my writing.

So, yeah.

Here's my awkward story.

* * *

**Chapter One: Falling In Reverse**

Hogwarts

May; Nineteen Forty Four

* * *

She was falling.

Tumbling.

Her mouth open, hoping to scream, but she was only swallowed into nothingness.

Falling.

Tumbling.

And it _fucking_ hurt.

.

.

.

Hermione's body slammed into a hard and cold surface. She groaned; her eyes squeezed shut, her chest rapidly rising and falling. The blazing heat and ridge cold was _finally_ fading away.

Bloody hell, her whole body hurts.

A shuffle.

Hermione's body stiffened and she turned her head towards the sound and cracked open her eyes. Stormy grey hues bore into her, filled with painful tears and his body was shaking. But, his unmistakable flop of white blonde hair screamed at her his identity; Malfoy.

What the _hell_?

"D-d-raco?" She rasped. When was the last time she had seen the ferret? "What is going on?" Her hoarse voice was barely audible. She was tried. So very, very tired.

His barely managed to shake his head, his quivering breaths unable to make anything remotely like a word. The man was on his knees, sweating and shuddering.

"You should learn to stay out of my way, Abraxas." A cold voice cut through the silence and it actually sent shivers down her spine.

"_Occisus incendo!"_

However, the hiss-of-a-spell that was meant for the so called 'Abraxas' had struck the witch instead, like the caster had no idea that she was there.

Hermione let out a cry of pain as her skin was suddenly ripped apart. She flopped to her side, her skin burning and tearing relentlessly at her body, and curled into her self. She wiggled around a bit, trying to do anything to make it stop— almost feeling like a certain unforgivable curse. Exhaustion soaking her head to toe from her fall and the pain only made it worse. Then, as soon as it came, the curse was lifted. Slowly, she narrowly opened her eyes, her arms clinging her to bleeding form, to meet a dark set of eyes. They were wide, shocked—_horror_ etched into his beautiful, pale face.

He looked like an angel; a fallen angel.

Her chest was beginning to feel light again—not from the blood draining from her body—like she was slipping through the cold, stone floor.

"HERMIONE!" The beautiful angel man cried out, his hand outstretching, and legs pulling his body forward, but it was too late.

She was falling.

.

.

.

A-_fucking_-gain.

* * *

Hogwarts

November; Nineteen Forty One

* * *

Her back collided painfully against something hard—uneven, like she landed on large bricks. Her body protested the horrid treatment; her spine felt like it was trying to be a rubber band when it was actually a rod. Black spots danced in her vision, staring up at the familiar stone ceilings through barely opened eyes. Parting her chapped lips, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment, she let out a small hiss of pain between clenched teeth. She could feel the blood from her wounds seep around her, her clothes clinging uncomfortably against her skin.

The sound of shuffling.

Her eyes popped open wide.

God damn, if she was attacked again…

Hermione immediately patted her body for her wand, but it wasn't there. Oh, no. No, no, no! Panic flooded through her veins, fueling her heart beat to race against her chest. Where was her wand!? _Fucking hell._ Did she drop it? Was it even with her? Closing her eyes and calming her breaths, her magic crackled around her, reaching out for her wand—or any wand for that matter.

It should have confused her that she felt quite of bit a wands calling back to her in assistance—that wasn't was what worried her at the moment. Her fingers twitched, _accio'ing_ the closest wand, which was, in fact, right next to her. When her hand wrapped around it, her magic reacted, almost _melting _with it—even though the she could feel that this certainly wasn't her own. Rolling slightly, she suddenly fell face first towards the stone floors. Before she should shriek her hands shot out in front of her, propelling her back up into a defense quickly. With the unfamiliar wand in one hand, the other wrapped around her side to try to stop the blood flowing, she turned towards the beautiful attacker—

—Or at least, that's where he should have been.

She suddenly felt more than heard_ Expelliarmus_, and it felt powerful. Ah-Ha! She whirled around, flicking her wrist, non-verbally casting a shield and waved her arm again, pushing the attacker back and then silently casting _Petrificus Totalus_.

The apparent assailant let out a hiss of pain, and a then a growl.

Dark blue—almost black—eyes met hazel.

_What?_

Her eyebrows creased, her defense slightly slipping. This was a boy; he looked like that same man that had hexed her… but, somehow, he was younger. Clad in a Slytherin uniform, not in the dark robes from earlier. His eyes were wide—shock, in awe, and what she could read the most like it was screaming at her; anger, suffering. Hurt.

Was this a bloody joke?

Where was Malfoy? No—what was his name—Abraxas?

Her eyes flickered around, seeing a classroom full of students that all stared back at her.

_What was going on!? Why are they here!? _Confusing and panic flooded through her—surging and she started to shake. She waved her arm again, casting a powerful shield around the classroom.

"Dear Merlin, girl! What is the meaning of this!?"

She whirled around again with her wand thrust up—but then she faltered. Hermione nearly choked. Professor Slughorn, well, a bit of a younger version of him, stood in front of her, his wand raised.

_What in the name of Godric?_

Shakily, she lowered her wand and leaned back against the wall of the classroom. Her breaths were loud, uneven, and her body suddenly felt heavy. Her eyes moved slowly back to the student who casted the spells earlier.

He glared at her, his face bubbling with range of emotions and it looked as if he was trying to wiggle from her body bind. She cleared her throat and took a shaky step towards him, waving the borrowed wand, watching his body suddenly slack. She placed the wand down in front on him on the desk that was covered in blood—her blood.

Ah…so that's was what she landed on.

"O-oh. Um. Sorry." Her voice was hoarse. Even the wand was covered in blood from her fingertips. Waving her hand, she performed _scourgify_ wandlessly and all the blood disappeared from the wood, the books, and the parchment that littered the desk—probably from her fall.

As soon as the boy found himself free, he lunged at his wand and pointed it at her; his glare hard and his body's movements were still stiff. Was he_ really_ going to attack her _again_ with _everyone_ in the room?

"You!" She heard him hiss, which sounded like accusing—that hiss filled with anguish, rage, and sadness. Hermione's eyes widen, staring at the boy—he certainly wasn't a man—his eyes glassy with unshed tears, holding his wand out to her heart with a now wavering, shaky hand.

She simply stared blankly at him. Slowly, her eyebrow furrowed in confusion. What he talking to _her_? He had to be. He was looking at her.

Right. At. Her.

_What the hell?_

The two continued to look at each other, their magic crackling around them. How was this boy the same beautiful man she seen not a moment ago. _Why is he so upset?_ The students in the class room started to whisper at the abrupt display between the student and the interruption of the bleeding woman.

"Is she an auror?"

"Is Tom crying?"

"Did she just do wandless magic?"

"What on earth is she _wearing_?"

"Is she Grindelwald's followers?"

"Bloody hell, she's hot."

"Tom knows her?"

"Where in Godric's name did she come from?"

"I can feel her magic from over here!"

"Ew! Oh Merlin! She's bleeding everywhere!"

The boy—Tom—did not move his eyes from her, nor his wand. His glare was unwavering, unlike his shaking body. She licked her chapped lips, about to open her mouth and say something when his choked sobbed stopped her.

"Why?!" he cried.

_Why what? I'm the one who is confused!_

His wand now was digging painfully into her chest.

"Why did you leave me?" His voice was in a quivering whisper. Hermione had the audacity to quirk her brow up. "You promised me you would stay!" he shouted, his tears were finally spilling over his cheeks.

_Leave?_

"I-I'm sorry," she rasped out. "Y-you're mistaken."

The moment she said that, she knew it was a mistake. His face—anger and sadness clashing together—only seemed to be in complete pain.

She was met with silence.

"Mivera, go get Madam Adamski before she bleeds to death!" Slughorn's voice sounded far away; muddled. As if she remembered her bleeding body, Hermione winced as she squeezed her arms around herself.

The boy paused, finally seeing the blood seeping through her fingers—even though it was all over his desk not long ago.

"You're bleeding," he whispered, his tear streaked face finally pulled out of anguish and confusion was setting in.

Perhaps now he would understand he _had the wrong witch._

"What happened? Hermione? Who did this to you," he demanded.

She started, openly gaped at him.

He knew her _name_? Well, he had said it before… but, that was when he was older.

Perhaps he did know her?

But she sure as hell didn't know him.

Her body was becoming heavier and heavier, her body was slumping forward, swaying ever so slightly on her feet, her knees shaking.

"Hermione!" His voice sounded so worried. She wondered for a moment if there was another witch named Hermione and it was all just an honest mistake. She barely registered his arms around her, her eyes lids hardly able to hold open and before she knew it, she was swallowed in darkness.

.

.

.

* * *

"—at do you mean she just fell out of the sky?"

"Just that! She just fell right on Tom's desk out of nowhere!"

"How can that be? There are anti-apparition wards surrounding Hogwarts!"

"The poor girl is bleeding!"

"Well—Erm, yes. The desk was covered in blood. I'm surprised none of the students fainted."

"It looks to be the works of a dark curse."

There was a shuffling around a bit and Hermione felt someone touching her side. Without a second thought, her hand twitched _accio'ing_ the closest wand to her hand, sprang from the bed, and held it at the witch's throat. Her body was exhausted, but the spiked fear and adrenaline kept the witch going. The movement caused pain to shoot all over her body, mostly at her recent wounds, but she ignored it.

All the commotion paused and the only thing heard was her rapid breathing. The witch in front of her obvious didn't look to be a threat.

But the woman only smiled sadly. "It's alright, Lassy. Now put the wand down."

Hermione did no such thing.

A shuffle came to the right and she moved her wand towards the direction. Her eyes registered the unfamiliar faces, with the exception of the younger Professor Slughorn.

"Now, now, dear. Lower your wand, please." An older man said. Now that Hermione had stared at him, he did look slightly familiar. Perhaps she had seen him before?

But of course, Hermione did not listen to him either. Her hand was shaking. Nothing was making any sense.

_Where is Harry? Ron?_

The bigger question:Just _where _was_ she?_

Someone walked into the circle that surrounded her cot and Hermione nearly passed out yet again. There, standing right before her, alive, was Professor Dumbledore; a much younger version of him.

"P-Professor Dumbledore." She squeaked, her hand shaking harder and her vision was becoming blurry. The man in question raised his eyebrow. Hermione thickly swallowed the lump in her throat. "W-where am I?"

Dumbledore took a step closer towards her, placing a warm—and very much alive—hand on her shoulder. "You are in Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?"

"Yes, and you're safe."

"Safe," she replied stupidly.

He nodded. She opened her mouth, ready to attack the young professor with a million of questions, but nothing came out. She shut them again, lowering her wand until her hand fell limp in her lap. She swallowed again.

"Am I dead?"

It seemed like such an absurd thing for the Brightest-Witch-Of-Her-Age to say, but the words tumbled out of her mouth. It was the only explanation. Well, there was still one question: Why the hell did her body _still_ hurt?

Her old Headmaster chuckled.

"Not at all M'dear."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Y-you're alive?"

His eyes twinkled. "Yes, I do believe I am."

.

.

.

* * *

Her face—confusion and all—swam into his memory. She looked the same.

_Exactly_ the fucking _same_.

She was wearing the _same_ ridiculous trousers; skinny around her calves, but slightly looser from her knees and up, then they hung snugly around her waist. They had the absurd looking pockets at her thighs.

The _same_ brown short sleeve shirt that was not tucked in—woman or not, she should at least have the mannerism to tuck in her tail—then again, he had always liked that about her.

The _same_ worn old traveling boots. They even still had had the _same_ fucking stains on them!

Her hair was the _same_; wild and untamed.

Her face, her eyes, all unaged; all the _same_.

_Same_ as that day.

The boy leaned down, his elbows on his knees, his fingers tangling into his abnormally messy locks—courtesy of running his hands through it in frustration.

_What the hell was going on?_

He could feel the wave of angry tears burning his eyes. His lips curled into a scowled. No! He did _not _want to cry anymore. Not now. Not ever. There were too many wasted moments where he thought about _her_.

He cannot believe he had broken down the way he had done in Potions. In front of the entire class no less! Even bloody Slughorn looked at him differently. He looked so weak! So pitiful! So _pathetic_! How _dare_ she! How dare she appear into his life again?!

"Mister Riddle," an old, wise voice cut off the thoughts brewing in his mind like a storm. "Professor Slughorn has mentioned that our—" the old codger paused, trying to think of the right name to call her. "guest, may be someone you know?"

The young wizard steeled himself before lifting his dark eyes up to professor Dumbledore with a mask of mild indifference. He didn't want this man to see him weak. The old wizard waited patiently for answer. Tom swallowed thickly.

"No," he glanced away. "No, sir. I was mistaken."

.

.

.

* * *

He had no idea how he ended up here. Somehow, he long strides had brought him to the infirmary. His lips pulled into a scowl. He did _not_ want to be anywhere near this place.

He didn't want to be near _her_—Hermione or not.

But, as if he was under the Imperius curse, Tom pushed open the doors as quietly as he could. Inside the dimly lit room, was her—the only occupant—laying in a cot in the corner with drapes cutting her off poorly to the rest of the world. He could see her chest slowly rising and falling through the gap between the sheers. Slowly, ever so slowly, he had taken quiet steps across the stone floors. His heart was beating rapidly, thundering in his ears. He was sure it would wake up the entire school. He dipped into the drapes—refusing her look at her—and noticed a single chair at the head of the bed.

The damn wooden thing groaned under Tom's weight, only slightly as he slowly sat himself down, but he cringed at the noise. It echoed off the stone walls and he stilled. If Madam Adamski came out, it would land him in detention for being out of bed after hours.

After a moment or two, Tom's body relaxed—well, not as much as he could. And it took him longer to lift his stormy grey hues to the sleeping woman in the cot.

Angry rose up inside of him.

How could this be?! She looked exactly like his Hermione.

It just was _not_ possible!

Finally, his eyes focused on her face.

He leaned closer—just a bit—and a frown tugged at his lips and his eyebrows furrowed.

"I know you're awake," he murmured quietly—even though it seemed like the loudest sound in the world.

There was a moment or two and nothing happened. Tom thought maybe he was going insane. Crazy. She was driving him mad. But then she slowly opened her eyes, locking her tired gaze quickly with his.

Her –_same_—brown eyes were still held the warmth he had seen _that_ day. The pent up feelings inside of him were brewing, bubbling over and he vaguely registered his shaking body. Her eyes were calm as they assessed him; flickering around to his eyes, his nose—they lingered for a moment—and then her scrutiny dropped to his hands. It was like she was searching for something.

But what?

Tom hadn't had the faintest idea.

Her eyes stayed at his hands for a long time. Tom shifted slightly, his fingers gripping a fistful of his robes to keep him calm. Taking a deep, calming breath, he released the fabric. The movement must have caught her off and they snapped back to his face. She licked her chapped lips and spoke.

"You're so young," her voice was hoarse and quiet, her eyes seeming like she far, far away.

Tom blinked. Surely she remembered something—anything at all—of before. Something inside of him felt like it was slowly crumbling. Maybe… maybe this woman really wasn't her. Seriously! _How could I be so stupid? Of course she isn't the same person. It is impossible! _

Tom immediately puffed up his chest and sat up straighter, his face keeping a cool and nonchalant mask.

"I'm thirteen," he started almost proudly. Her warm eyes softened slightly.

"You're in your fourth year?" She asked. He nodded.

Her gaze shifted back to the ceiling, and then she closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Her whole body seemed to be shaking all of the sudden. The intakes of her breaths were loud and staggering. Tom's eyes widened and he leaned over to her, his hand gripping her too warm—but cold?—shoulder.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?!" He was about the turn and grab Madam Adamski but her voice stopped him.

"It's happening again." She managed to stay between her chattering teeth.

What? What was _happening again_?

"I don't know you," she murmured softly, her eyes opened and found his wide, panicked stare. "But maybe that it is because I haven't met you yet."

Tom's eyebrows knitted in confusion and then suddenly, he watched as she started to fade.

"NO! No! Please! Wait!" He all but leapt on the bed, grabbing frantically at anything he could hold on to of her. The dissolving face smiled tiredly at him before her hand reached out and cupped his cheek.

"Don't worry. You'll see me again, Tom."

And then she was gone.

That confirmed it.

She was the _same_.

.

.

.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeahhh. This is reallllyyyyy OOC—especially Tom. I'm still working on Hermione; we'll see how she turns out. Occisus incendo means burning and slicing flesh. Totally made it up with the help of basic Latin. xD This chapter COULD stand alone as a one-shot—maybe? But then again, there would be quite a few unanswered questions.

Let me know what you guys think! I have chapter two outlined, I just need to flesh it out. So I'm not quite sure when I will have it updated. I won't promise you a quick update, but I will promise that there will be updating and a finished story. Eventually. xD

Anonymous


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